


Spring Training (A Bawson Bits Miniseries)

by MagicInHerMadness



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Spring Training, so many of the tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-10-08 09:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10383282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInHerMadness/pseuds/MagicInHerMadness
Summary: A collection of Bawson bits set during Ginny's first spring training.Ginny offers Mike the prospect of being her roommate during spring training. Shenanigans ensue. A trashapalooza.





	1. Roommates

**Prompt: "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"**

 

Ginny frowns as she enters her room, the prospect of her afternoon nap impeded by Mike's presence in her bed. "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

Mike gestures to his gray boxers. “I’m not _naked_.”

“A distinction with very little difference, old man,” Ginny replies, rolling her eyes.

“You invited me to move in. This is me moving in.”

“I said you could crash on my couch. This isn’t the couch.”

Ginny had sheepishly offered Mike the prospect of being her roommate during their spring training in Arizona in an attempt to reclaim their old symbiosis. Both of them fresh out of breakups, Mike had agreed if only so he wasn’t all alone again, moving into Ginny’s tiny desert bungalow despite his apprehension at its lack of luxury. The four room cottage had an enormous screened-in front porch with a large round swing that seemed to be Ginny’s sole reason for renting it although she was equally fond of the bathroom’s rain-simulating head.

“You said we’re roommates. Since we’ve only got the one room, I’m entitled to be naked in here. Especially since it’s like a million degrees,” he replies.

Ginny rolls her eyes as she climbs onto the surprisingly cool bed beside him and sighs as she lays on her back. “How long do you think we’ll last with the broken AC?”

“I’m like a day away from shaving.” The air conditioner had gone out late Friday night. Now the middle of Saturday, Mike isn’t sure they’ll live to see the repairman on Monday morning.

Ginny laughs. “Suddenly the heat isn’t so bad.”

“You’d miss the beard.” He reaches over, raps his knuckles against the curve of her hip.

“I definitely wouldn’t.”

“Why do you insist on this charade Baker? You love the beard. All the ladies love the beard.”

Ginny rolls her eyes as she rolls onto her side. “Okay I will admit I found it _marginally_ attractive when we first met. Back when it didn’t look like it was eating your face.”

She shakes her head at the grin that spreads across his face. “I knew it.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. There was a lot about you that was attractive then that I could do without now,” she replies with a smirk.

Mike laughs, shrugs. “You were a lot cuter back then too. Now you’re just this perky little pain in the ass.”

“Whatever. You love me.”

“I really don’t.”

“You really do. I’m your favorite.”

“Favorite what, Baker?”

“Everything,” she answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He looks up at her and the answer reveals itself in his eyes before he can make a snide remark, but he tries anyway. “I’m just with you all the time. That’s all.”

“You’re with me all the time because I’m your favorite, old man.” Ginny’s not sure what she’s playing at with this conversation, only that he smells like home as he lays just close enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin.

“No. You’re with _me_ all the time because I’m _your_ favorite, rookie.”

Ginny gives a cheeky smile. “Favorite what?"

“Where to start? My smile, my laugh, that little twinkle in my eye… It’s a wonder you can stand to be without me.”

He smiles at the way she laughs, curling into a ball and bringing a hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe you actually said that out loud!”

“Just admit it. You’ve got a raging case of Mike-O-Mania,” he replies as she settles, rolling onto her stomach to smile at him.

Ginny reaches out, tugs his beard. “I wouldn’t say that, but you’re okay. Sometimes I even love you.”

Mike tweaks her nose. “Sometimes I love you too, rookie.”

“Enough to let me have the last beer?”

“Not even close,” he replies, rolling off the bed to retrieve it.

“That’s too bad, huh?” She hopped off the bed, sprinting out of the room ahead of her slower captain.

Mike hurries to the kitchen and reaches the doorway just in time to see Ginny grab it out of the refrigerator. She holds it out of his reach when he goes for it but Mike still grabs at it, only stopping when Ginny aims the large can at him and pops the top, spraying him with cold beer. Her laugh echoes in his ears as he turns away to wipe his face with a dish towel.

“Thank you for wasting a perfectly good beer, rookie.”

Ginny smiles as she brings the beer to her lips and sips it. “You’d be mad if I wasn’t your favorite, old man.”

She doesn’t expect the smile that softens his face as he towels off, headed out of the kitchen. “Let's just say you're lucky you're you."


	2. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tell me a secret

“Tell me a secret,” Mike prompts as he and Ginny lay under the humming ceiling fan in her Arizona cottage.

Ginny looks over at him, a sheen of sweat glistening in the valley of his collarbone. “What do you wanna know about? The bank robberies or the insider trading?”

Mike laughs, shrugs. “Come on, Baker. Humor me. I’m bored.”

“First of all, tomorrow can’t come fast enough because the lack of cable and wifi is making you insufferable,” she shot him a teasing smile. “And second, if I tell you a secret, you have to tell me one.”

“Deal,” he replies.

“Okay, but if this ever leaves this room, I’ll murder you. And I’m not even close to kidding.” She rolls onto her stomach, her back immediately breaking out in goosebumps from exposure to the fan’s valiant effort at making the room habitable. “I cried when you married Rachel.”

“Bullshit,” he says instantly, shaking his head at her.

Ginny laughs. “I’m serious!”

Mike shakes his head again. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Baker.”

“I swear.”

“On what?”

“I don’t know. What should I swear on?”

“Swear on that poster of me that you allegedly didn’t have but is in your closet at the Omni.”

Ginny’s eyes widen. “How did you—”

“I was looking for my birthday present.” Ginny had let it slip that Mike’s present was hidden in her apartment before they left for spring training but so far Mike hadn’t come across it. Considering that it was in her bathroom pantry, surrounded by her bulk supply of tampons, she knows he’ll never find it, but she wonders when he managed to snoop.

“Well you’re never gonna find it, although I really shouldn’t give it to you since you’ve been snooping,” she replies. “But since you know I have the poster, I swear on it. In my defense, I was 16 and I still thought you were the epitome of man. And then my mom brought me home a copy of Us Weekly and there you were, cutting your wedding cake with Bridal Barbie. I was so depressed my dad actually bought me ice cream.”

Mike gives a small smile as he tilts his head to look at her in the dark room, the lights left off to ward off residual heat. “Baker, what exactly did you imagine happening between me and you besides a felony charge?”

Ginny laughs, shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought… Your first game was against the Braves that season and my dad had managed to get us tickets for my birthday and every night I’d make sure the tickets were still in my jewelry box, and I’d get in bed and imagine I caught a fly ball. And I’d wait after the game for you to sign it and you’d see me and the world would stop when our hands touched or something. It wasn’t even close to possible but boys around me weren’t into me and I just figured you’d be the exception. You’d see me as, like, a woman.”

Mike can’t be sure in the darkness but he can swear she’s blushing as she shakes her head, her hair falling to cover her face. She laughs nervously. “I can’t believe I just told you that. This is the moment I quit drinking.”

They’d made sangria in honor of the heatwave and to make due in the absence of beer forgotten on Ginny’s last trip to the grocery store. Now Ginny’s regretting them splitting the pitcher of sticky sweet wine. She sheepishly shifts her gaze to Mike and her face grows hotter when she finds his eyes on her. She murmurs, “Go ahead. Mock me.”

He doesn’t grin, doesn’t tease, instead shaking his head, reaching out to squeeze her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Ginny blinks at him. “You’re sorry you married the woman you loved and broke the heart of a teenage girl you didn’t know existed?”

He shakes his head, shrugs. “I just know what it’s like to have your hero let you down.”

Ginny almost questions him and Mike’s thankful she doesn’t so he doesn’t have to tell her that he thinks he might be apologizing for being a coward, for not waiting for her to show up in his life. Instead she says, “Your turn, old man.”

“Okay, but the same threat goes for you as for me. And I know people. I could have you rubbed out like that,” he snaps his fingers and Ginny laughs, her nose scrunching.

“Rubbed out? Who are you, Al Pacino?”

“Shut up.” He pokes her side and she jumps, rolling onto her back as her giggles subside. “Okay, I can’t believe I’m telling you this but I’ve got your poster. Rookie card too.”

“You do _not_!” Ginny gawks at him, her wide eyes seemingly twice as large.

“I do. I swear.”

“On what?”

“On my first game ball.”

Ginny’s eyes widen even more if such is possible. She’s seen his prized game ball—the first ball he’d ever hit in the majors—in the display case in his house. He’d actually had it bronzed. “Seriously?”

He nods. “I’ve never seen a rookie season like yours, Baker. The way you battle back from everything—bullshit in the locker room, the talking heads, your injury—is something I’ve never seen any rookie have the balls to do. You had a million reasons to walk out and nobody would have blamed you but you showed up every day and took it on like it was nothing.”

“Stop,” Ginny squeaks, covering her face.

“I’ve already told you that you blew me away but that was so long ago, before so much stuff that I never saw coming for you. So when the season was over, I bought your poster so when I’m old and gray—make a smart remark and I’ll smother you right now—I can tell my grandkids about the season I got to play with one of the greatest to ever pick up a ball.” He nudges her, smiling at her still-covered face. “I guess my secret is that you’re my hero, Baker.”

He stares at her for a moment, wondering what her response will be until she lowers her hands from her face, wiping at her eyes as she does. She shakes her head, forces a laugh. “I can’t believe you made me cry, you bastard.”

Mike laughs, reaches over to loop his arm around her neck and pull her into an almost hug. He gives her a little noogie in hopes of lightening the mood. “I’m gonna tell everyone you’re crying.”

She finally laughs, lifting her face to smile at him. “Am I really your hero, old man?”

“I guess,” he replies with a smile as he lets her go though she doesn’t stray very far. “But I’ve been known to have pretty low standards.”

Ginny laughs, tugs his beard. “Shut up.”


	3. Twenty Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Looks like we'll be trapped in here a while.."

The elevator groaned to a start, carrying Mike and Ginny up about three floors before it sputtered to a stop. Ginny frowned, pushing the “door open” button a few times before a mechanical voice informed them “We are experiencing technical difficulties. Maintenance is being informed and will be with you shortly.”

“Shit,” the pitcher hisses, giving the door a frustrated strike with the heel of her hand.

“Easy. That’s how you make your money,” Mike warns as he slides to the floor, his phone out to send Blip a text about the hiccup of his “luxury accommodations”.

“I know. It’s just—”

“If we get stuck in another small, hot room together, our only option is murder suicide and I’m honestly not picky about who gets what anymore,” Mike supplies. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while..”

Ginny nods as she sits beside him. “So, what do we do, old man?”

“Wait, rookie,” he replies.

“Let’s play Twenty Questions.”

“What about…” He frowns.

Ginny nods. “We get five passes each, but you can’t pass on the first question.”

“Okay. Shoot, rookie.”

"Would you ever get married again?"

"Yeah. I've figured out that marriage wasn't the problem. Would you?"

"If it was right then yeah."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Is that another question?"

"Pausing for clarification."

"I just mean... Have you ever been with someone who felt like you owned them?" He shoots her a look and Ginny snorts. "Right. Well my parents had one of those marriages and it was just miserable. Mom felt like Dad owed her for her deferred dreams. Dad felt like he'd done what he could and didn't have anymore to give. It was so sad to see what could have been. So I'd get married but only if it felt really really right. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours."

"What would you do if you didn't play baseball?"

"Didn't or couldn't?"

"Both. Either. Your choice."

"If I didn't, I'd probably sell cars. If I couldn't, I'd be a trainer or something. Try to stop people from ending up with knees like mine. Same question."

"If I didn't, I'd be a preschool teacher or something. I love little kids. If I couldn't, I'd coach softball or something. Or run some kind of camp for girl athletes to teach them that there's no difference in their sports. Do you like kids?"

"I love kids. All I've wanted to do since I made it into the majors is be a dad, but my career took off so fast. Then Rachel's did too. Then everything turned to shit and having a kid in the middle of marital problems is like putting a roof on a burning house. Do you want kids?"

"Yeah, but only with the right person. I want my kids to learn about heartbreak, but not from me."

"I always say I don't want my kids to have a childhood they have to recover from."

Ginny nods. "If we weren't teammates, would you ask me out?"

"Yeah."

The immediacy of his answer makes her eyebrows rise. "Really?"

"That's two questions, Baker."

"Pause for clarification."

"What exactly needs clarifying?"

"Why you'd ask me out?"

"The question was _if_ I would, not _why_."

"Humor me."

Mike rolls his eyes. "You're hot. We'd have to go on at least one date for me to know you're a pain in the ass."

"You think I'm hot?"

"That's three questions."

"We're still clarifying."

Mike rolls his eyes again. "Yeah you're hot. There's this light about your face that just... You've got the brownest eyes. Those big white teeth, the way you scrunch your nose, those stupid dimples... You're...beautiful, Baker. And don't take that lightly because I don't usually use that word." 

Ginny smiles at her lap, her cheeks flushed. "It's your turn."

"If we weren't teammates and I asked you out, would you say yes?"

“Depends.”

“On?”

Ginny grins. “That’s two questions.”

“We’ve paused for clarifications again, Baker.”

“Okay. So what are we clarifying?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Why you’d turn me down.”

“That’s not what I said,” she laughs. “Saying yes would depend on how you asked. If you came at me like I was some groupie, I’d turn you down for the hell of it.”

“So if I was Mike Lawson: Gentleman Edition, you’d say yes?”

“I guess I wouldn’t know you were insufferable until after at least one dinner.”

“You mean irresistible, but whatever, rookie.” He nudges her with his elbow. “Your turn.”

Before she can ask another question, the elevator groans back to life and the doors open. Mike looks at her with a smile. “Wanna blow Sanders off and go be apart from each other for once?”

“Definitely,” Ginny replies immediately as she gets to her feet. “Let’s get some TexMex first, though.”

Blip is understanding after their ordeal with the elevator, and following a quick trip to a taco truck, they head back to their bungalow. Ginny perches on the porch swing with her laptop to watch movies while Mike sprawls on the bed under their finally functioning air conditioning.

Ginny’s not even sure when she falls asleep except that a screeching bird startles awake and she nearly drops her laptop. She yawns as she climbs out of the swing, her MacBook under her arm, and heads into the house. Mike is asleep, the television a low hum drowned out by his rattling snore. Ginny sets her computer on the dresser then kicks off her shoes as she walks to the bed. They’ve mostly mastered the art of platonic bed-sharing, waking only a few mornings in a decidedly unfriendly entanglement. She climbs onto the bed, nudging Mike over. He blinks awake and frowns sleepily at her.

“Jesus, Baker, I thought we were spending some time alone.”

“This is the coolest room. Move over,” she replies, taking a pillow to lay on.

“You just can’t get enough of me,” he mutters sleepily, scooting over so she can lay down beside him.

Ginny laughs, bumps him with her elbow. “Oh yeah. The Mike-O-Mania is real.”

“All the ladies have it.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep.”


	4. Sunshowers and Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"

Mike blinked at Ginny, turning her words over in his head to make sure he’d heard correctly. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

Ginny nodded, wondering what he found so confusing about the request as they drove down the road leading to the bungalow. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen rain, old man?”

It had been about a month since the last rain, but Mike shook his head. “Then _look_ at it, rookie. You have no reason to get out in it.”

“You’re such a dad,” she teased with a smirk, rolling her eyes.

“Because I don’t want you to get pneumonia?” Mike heard his reply then sighed and pulled onto the shoulder. “Fine. Have at it, but I’m staying here.”

Ginny shrugged, letting her hair out of its ponytail before she got out of the car, instantly sticking her olive-green shirtdress to her lithe frame. They’d gone to the farmer’s market to get corn and fresh fish, Ginny planning her first attempt at cooking dinner that evening, but Mike was sure his rookie wouldn’t be doing anything but bed with the inevitable cold she’d get from running around in the rain.

Still, she was nothing short of enchanting as she tilted her head back, let the rain pour on her tan face. He honked the horn and she climbed into the car, dripping and smiling. “The rain’s so warm.”

“Almost like a shower, which we have if you didn’t know,” he replied as he turned off the hazard lights and pulled back onto the road. “You’re buying this car when we get back home, by the way.”

Ginny laughed, piling her hair up on her head, then took a napkin from the glove compartment to dry her face. “It’s a nice car.”

“It was until you ruined a perfectly good leather seat with your nonsense,” he replied.

Ginny rolled her eyes, smiling at him. “Sorry Dad.”

“If you wanna call me daddy, just go for it, Baker.”

“I’ll pass but thanks for the offer.”

A few minutes later, he pulled into the bungalow’s covered driveway. Ginny got out of the car and darted into the house, and Mike could already hear the shower going when he entered a few minutes later, laden with grocery bags. He called, “I didn’t need any help but thanks so much for offering.”

“I’m cold!” she called over the roaring water.

“Big shock,” he muttered as he dropped the bags onto the kitchen table then went into the bedroom and tugged off his jeans, changing into his sweats before he plopped on the bed and turned on the television. He was halfway through an episode of _Chopped_ when Ginny finally emerged from the bathroom, shrouded in his bathrobe and still shivering.

Mike smirked when she began a succession of sneezes on her way to the dresser. She pulled out a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt then went back into the bathroom. A smile curled his lips as he listened to her continue to sneeze. The tip of her nose was crimson when she emerged a second time, her wet hair twisted into a bun on the crown of her head. She took a pair of socks from her top drawer and pulled them on as she sat on the bed. Mike scooted over so she could get under the covers, watching as she pulled them up to her chin. “Problem, rookie?”

“Shut up,” she muttered as she burrowed deeper into the blanket shroud. She sneezed herself to sleep, waking a short while later covered in sweat. Mike looked up from his sandwich and frowned at her glazed eyes.

“Goddammit, Baker. You’re sick,” he muttered as he moved closer, extending a hand to feel her forehead.

“Nooooo,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “I’m clearly the picture of health.”

“It’s almost like running around in the rain wasn’t a good idea or something.”

“Fu—” A rattling cough cut off her expletive and she leaned back on the blankets. “Just leave me alone.”

Mike climbed off the bed and went into the kitchen. Ginny entered a few minutes later, whined, “I can’t believe you left me alone. I’m sick.”

He looked away from the cabinets, explained, “I was looking for soup, rookie. Go get back in bed.”

Ginny went back into the bedroom and Mike continued to look through the cabinets. When his search turned up nothing, he went to the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of bourbon, listening as Ginny coughed. She was frowning at the television when he re-entered the room and held out the mug to her. “Drink this.”

Ginny sniffed the beverage and frowned harder. “What is this?”

“A hot toddy. It’ll make you feel better,” he answered.

“No it won’t,” Ginny whined and Mike rolled his eyes. Being sick apparently made her a four-year-old.

“Well then it’ll put you to sleep. Just drink it, Baker.”

Ginny quickly downed the cup’s contents, defiantly frowning as she gave the mug back. Mike put it in the sink then went back to the bedroom, watching as she grew drowsy, her eyelids fluttering. When she began to snore softly, he left, headed for the nearest gas station to get supplies. On the way, he called Evelyn, bypassing a greeting and announcing, “Baker’s sick.”

“With what?”

“Leprosy,” he replied with a snort. “She decided to run around in the rain today and now she’s got a fever.”

“Why would you let her run around in the rain?” Evelyn demanded.

“Tell me what I could have done to stop her. Besides, you and Blip are her parents, not me. I’m a fun uncle at best.”

“Well get her some chicken soup. She likes the kind with the star-shaped noodles. And some cough drops. Cherry not orange because she won’t eat the orange ones. You should get some ginger ale and NyQuill too. She’s a miserable patient.”

Mike sighed. “Don’t you wanna come down here and take care of her for a few days? Don’t you miss her?”

“Not that much, Lawson. I love Ginny to death but she’s a pain in the ass when she’s sick.”

“She’s a pain in the ass all the time, Ev.”

“And yet you jumped at the chance to shack up with her. It’s almost like you love her or something,” Evelyn replied.

Mike rolled his eyes. “I should have called Blip.”

They talked for a few more minutes, Evelyn giving him “sick Ginny instructions”. When he returned from the gas station, Ginny was half-awake, staring blankly at the television. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps and gave a lopsided grin. “Where’d you go?”

“To the store,” he replied as he walked over to her, a new thermometer in his hand. He opened the package then held it out. “Put this under your tongue.”

Ginny did as she was told, and Mike wiped sweat off her forehead before he took the thermometer to squint at it. “One hundred and three point six. Jesus, Baker, you’re burning up.”

“I’m hot,” she agreed with a slow nod and Mike sighed, guessing she was loopy from her fever. He picked up the cup of water on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Drink this while I put this stuff up,” he instructed and she took the cup. He went into the kitchen and set the bag on the table, removing its contents. He was putting her soup in the microwave when Ginny called him. He went back into the bedroom and stood before her. “What’s wrong, Baker?”

“You keep leaving me alone,” she whined.

Mike rolled his eyes, sat on the bed. “What do you want?”

“Please don’t go. I’ll eat you up, I love you so. Get it? Cause you’re hairy like the wild things!” Ginny gave his beard a tug, grinning for a moment before she collapsed in a fit of fevered giggles.

Mike laughed, thinking perhaps he’d brewed her hot toddy stronger than he should have, then pulled the blankets off the bed and hauled her out of bed. “Come on, rookie. You’ve gotta sit in the tub a minute before you boil what’s left of your brain.”

“I don’t want to,” she whined, plopping back on the bed.

“Well you’re gonna.” He threw her over his shoulder, his back groaning, and carried her into the bathroom. Despite bribery and threats, he couldn’t coax his rookie into the tub, eventually having to settle for unzipping her hoodie and wiping her chest with a cool washcloth.

“This isn’t helping,” she complained, her teeth chattering as she began to shiver.

“Hush,” Mike replied, offering the thermometer again. A minute later he sighed in relief at her fever dropping. He zipped up her hoodie then took her to the kitchen. He took her soup out of the microwave and set the bowl on the island in front of a chair. “Eat your soup while I change the sheets.”

“I’m not hungry.” Still, she climbed onto the stool and sat before the steaming bowl. “I like the kind with the star noodles.”

“They were out, and it’s the same thing, rookie.”

“No it isn’t.”

He rolled his eyes at her indignant expression then went to the bedroom to strip the bed. He was changing the sheets when someone knocked on the door. Blip stood on the other side when he opened it. “Ev said Gin is sick so I came to be reinforcements.”

“She’s in the kitchen not eating her soup because it’s got the wrong noodles,” Mike replied.

“She’d have eaten it if you cut up the noodles.”

Mike blinked at the center fielder. “You do know that’s an adult sitting in there, right?”

Blip smirked. “You baby her as much as we do, Lawson.”

“I take care of her when she’s drunk. I don’t spoon feed her.”

“I’ve seen you cut up her waffles.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “She was crying because she dropped her knife. Forgive me for trying to stop her from making a scene in a Waffle House.”

“Because that’s not babying her at all,” Blip replied with an eyeroll of his own as he headed to the kitchen. Ginny sat at the island, glowering at the bowl. “Hey Gin.”

She looked up at him with a frown. “I don’t want this.”

“Let me see it,” he replied as he walked over and took the bowl. He took it to the counter and went to work chopping up the noodles. “You want some NyQuil?”

“No,” she huffed.

“Well you’re gonna take some,” Mike interjected as he walked into the room, the bundle of sheets in his arms.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

Ginny scowled. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you a—” Mike rolled his eyes, shook his head. “I’m not arguing with you because you got yourself sick, so if you wanna stay up all night you can go ahead.”

“Leave me alone.” Ginny hopped off her stool and went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

“Good luck sleeping with that tonight,” Blip remarked with a smirk.

Mike rolled his eyes, took the bowl of soup and the jar of vapor rub from the table then went into the bedroom, smirking at Ginny shrouding herself in the blankets. He sat on the bed beside her, leveling her with his sternest expression though it threatened to waver when she set her sullen eyes on him. “Okay here’s how this is gonna work, Baker. You’re gonna eat your soup and put some vapor rub on your chest. Then you’re gonna roll up in these blankets and go to sleep. You’re not gonna whine, or argue with me about either, okay?”

Ginny frowned at him for a long moment then acquiesced, “Fine.”

He handed her the spoon and she put it back in the bowl, defiantly refusing to look at him. Mike sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Baker…”

“I’m not arguing or whining. I’m just not gonna do it,” she replied, her plump lips tight.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel good and you’re bothering me.”

“You’re whining.”

“You’re still bothering me.”

Mike sighed, counted to ten. “Okay, let’s try this again. Baker, will you please eat the soup?”

Ginny shook her head, still refusing to look at him. Mike counted to ten again, held the spoon to her lips until Ginny finally opened her mouth, swallowing the spoonful of soup quickly. “Now was that so hard?”

“I’m not eating anymore,” she replied immediately.

“Jesus, Gin, why are you like this?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re sick and I don’t like seeing you sick. Now eat.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up at his admission but she didn’t question him, instead opening her mouth to accept more soup. When she finished the bowl, Mike took it into the kitchen to put it in the sink, smirking at Blip on the phone, a beer on the island in front of him.

“It’s going about how you’d expect, Evy. … Oh he’s way out of his depth. …” He smirked at Mike setting the empty bowl in the empty sink with a clatter. “He got her to eat though. … I think he likes when she’s bratty. You know he’s her drunk babysitter.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Mike interjected, smirking.

“Mike!” Ginny called from the bedroom.

“Yeah Baker?” He left the kitchen, headed for the bedroom again.

Blip laughed. “He’s completely wrapped around her finger, beck and call and everything else.”

In the bedroom, Ginny held the jar of vapor rub, frowning at it. “This stuff stinks.”

“Don’t smell it. Just put it on,” Mike replied.

“I don’t want to.” Her whining was promptly followed by a rattling cough.

“Give it here.” He sat on the bed and unzipped her hoodie a few inches then began slathering the goop on her warm chest. “You know, you weren’t this much of a pain in the ass after you had surgery.”

“I hate being sick,” she huffed.

“So I see.” He zipped up her jacket then put a streak down the center of her nose to unblock her nasal passages. “Now get under the covers and go to sleep before I take you to an orphanage or something.”

“You wouldn’t get rid of me. You love me.” She rolled herself up in the blankets and Mike turned off the lights before he went back into the kitchen where Blip was having a snack.

“Well thanks so much for your help, Sanders,” Mike joked as he washed his hands.

“Always a pleasure,” Blip replied with a smile. “Did you get her to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Then my work here is done.” He hopped off the island and went into the bedroom, Mike staying behind to wash her bowl. Blip plopped on the bed and reached over to pinch the tip of Ginny’s nose until she whined and pulled away. The center fielder laughed, doing it again.

“Stop Blip!” Ginny whined, swatting at him without opening her eyes.

“Come on. I always bother you when you’re sick,” he replied, moving from her nose to pinch her cheek.

“I know. I hate you.” She laughed, curling up when he tickled her side. “Mike! Make him stop!”

Mike walked to the bedroom doorway and rolled his eyes at them tussling on the bed. “Cut it out, Sanders. I’m trying to get her down for another nap.”

Blip laughed as he stood, giving Ginny’s side a squeeze. “Well I’m gonna go since I’m not saddled with a sick child and can enjoy my Friday night.”

Mike rolled his eyes, followed him to the front door. Blip said, “So I take it you’re not coming to the bar tonight.”

“Can’t leave the invalid alone,” Mike replied though he had no plans of going anyway after Ginny declined the offer prior to her rain-dancing escapade.

“Right. It’s not like you love her or anything.”

Mike snorted a laugh. “Goodbye, Sanders.”

Blip left and Mike returned to the bedroom where Ginny was snoring softly, the blanket kicked off. He sat on the bed beside her and changed the channel, not surprised when her snores stopped and she complained, “I was watching that.”

He smiled, reaching over to smooth her damp hair back from her forehead. “Go back to sleep, Baker.”


	5. Vasovogal Syncope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You fainted...straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vasovagal syncope - a condition that causes fainting at the sight of one's blood

Cold water hits Ginny’s face and her eyes flutter open, Mike’s frown swimming slowly into clarity as he looks at her. She blinks a few times, stands on slowly steadying legs. "I fainted?"

"Yeah you looked at your f—" One glance at her finger, crimson with blood and still leaking a steady stream puts her out again in his arms. Mike flicks more water on her face and she comes back around. He has the quick thinking to wrap her hand in a towel before she sees it again. "Jesus, Baker. You weren't this bad when you broke your fingers."

(Ginny had wanted to storm the mound when the Red Sox’s pitcher’s curveball smacked her fingers where they choked her bat, but the ump called "ball" and she decided to simply take her base, her fingers throbbing as she weakly tried to flex them. Before she could take her base, Al approached, squinting at her under the brim of his cap. 

"What's wrong?" he'd asked, reaching for her hand though she dropped it casually. 

"Jammed my fingers," she answered with a shake of her head. 

"Let me fix them." The way she shook her head at him told him she was lying about her hand's state. In his sternest tone, he demanded, "Give me your hand, Baker. Now." 

Ginny reluctantly placed her hand in his and Al scowled, grumbled, "These aren't jammed. They're broken."

"I'm fine. Let me take my base."

"Absolutely not. That's your pitching hand." He signaled to the ump that he was pulling her, called for a pinch runner. Ginny sulked behind him back to the dugout where Mike approached, frowning. 

"Let me see, rook." She showed him her crooked fingers and the catcher grimaced, shook his head. "That's disgusting."

Ginny sneered, rolling her eyes. "Sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities. Where's the tape?"

He found the first aid kit under an unoccupied sea then brought it to her. "I'll do it."

Ginny rolled her eyes but sat beside him in their seats, watching as he fashioned splints out of tongue depressors and medical tape, working delicately as he straightened out her fingers, his apology almost whispered when she hissed.)

"It's a medical condition," Ginny grumbles as Mike holds her hand above her head to check that the blood has clotted. 

"Wasn't aware being a wimp was a medical condition." He wets the clean end of the towel and wiped her finger clean. "I leave you alone for two seconds and you decide to hack your finger off. Does the term 'problem child' mean anything to you, Baker?"

"I was slicing the fish like you said and I nicked my finger. Everyone's done it before," Ginny replies. "And the fainting is a medical condition. It's called vasovogal syncope."

"Why do you know that?"

"It happened to me at school one day and freaked the teacher out enough to call the ambulance. The EMT told me what it was." She looks at his face, not dating a glance at her hand. "Is it bad?"

"I've seen worse. Stay here while I get the first aid kit and it goes without saying that you better not look at your finger." He leaves her in the kitchen and Ginny looks at anything but the counter as she wipes her blood off it with another towel. She hops on the counter and waits for Mike to return with the first aid kit, her hand obediently held over her head. Mike re-enters the kitchen, a glimmer of a smirk on his face, and shakes his head. "I'm tired of playing doctor with you, Baker."

Ginny rolls her eyes. "I'm not touching that at all."

"That's what she said." He grins when she laughs, shaking her head. 

"First of all, I can't believe you make those jokes. Second, you're the one who wants me to learn to cook. Therefore, you're responsible for all my injuries."

The plan was simple enough. They had gone to the farmer’s market and Mike had helped Ginny pick fresh salmon, a simple fish he figured she couldn’t screw up too badly, and large ears of corn that he promised to teach her to grill. He had butchered one fish easily, going through the steps so she could repeat them on her own before he left her to the go to the bathroom. Her shriek had brought him running back into the room just as her legs gave out at the sight of her spurting finger.

"Forgive me for thinking you should live off more than scrambled eggs and grilled cheese."

"Don't forget my cup of noodles."

"Oh yeah the hobo food."

"Hey that's a meal in a cup, old man."

Mike rolls his eyes as he takes her hand in his, holds up a cotton swab dipped in hydrogen peroxide. "Pinch yourself, rook."

Ginny blinks. "What?"

"Pinch yourself. The pain will distract you from the peroxide." Ginny rolls her eyes but does as he says though the sting of the peroxide still makes her wince as he pinches her thigh. Mike blows gently on her fingertip to soothe the sting then and gets the box of bandaids. "Alright, rook, do you want a Disney Princess bandaid or Spongebob?"

"Who's on the Princess?"

Mike opens the package and looks, momentarily in disbelief that he's doing this. "Princess Tiana."

"That one," she answers. 

Mike nods, takes scissors from the drawer beside her and clips the bandaid then wraps it around her finger. "If you cut it and tape it up like this, it won't keep unwrapping."

He grins as he presents her with her doctored finger and Ginny rolls her eyes to hide the softness of her smile at his gentle care. A sneer on his lips, he teases, "Want me to kiss it?"

“Oh yeah. It’s not a good cut if I don’t get a raging infection to go along with it,” Ginny replies with a  roll of her eyes.

Mike laughs, shakes his head. “I can’t wait for practice tomorrow so I can tell the guys you fainted straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Ginny rolls her eyes again, wags her bandaged finger at him. “I’ve had about as much of your attention as I can take, old man.”

“Shut up and shuck the corn. No more working with utensils today.” Ginny resumes her seat on the counter so she can watch him finish her fish, shucking the corn, humming as she works. Mike glances at her as he turns on the stove. “You done with Katy Perry?”

“What?”

“You’re humming Train instead of Katy Perry like you usually do.”

“Katy’s for workouts,” she replies then glances at him when she’s sure he’s not looking. “You know what I hum?”

Mike doesn’t look away from the fish, realizing he’s tipped his hand. “I had to figure out what it was so I could send the singer a death threat.”

Ginny nods then asks, “You like Train?”

“I’ve loved Train longer than you’ve been alive, Baker. ‘Hopeless’ is a better song, though.”

Ginny smiles. “I haven’t heard that song in forever!”

Mike plays the song on his phone, not expecting Ginny to sing along, or for her voice to make the hairs on his arm stand up. “ _And you don’t need my pictures on your wall/ You say you need no one…_ ”

“ _And you don’t need my secret midnight call/ I guess you need no one_ ,” he replies.

“ _Is anybody waiting at home for you?/ Cause time will tell if it’s heaven/ If it’s hell/ Or if it’s_ …”

 _“Anybody waiting at home for you?/ Cause it’s time that will tell this tale_ …”

He’s just quick enough, his pulse jumping instantly, when he dares lift his eyes from his fish and finds her eyes on his face, her hands still as they clutch the ear of corn in them. Her eyes fall back to her lap the moment their eyes meet and he quickly offers, “Wanna listen to their new album?”

“Yeah,” she answers too quickly, exhaling the word like she’s been holding her breath.


	6. KT Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You're the only one I trust to do this."

Ginny hums as she emerges from the shower, a towel around her waist and the other one in her hands as she walks into the warm bedroom. She pulls her hair up into a bun then heads for the kitchen, thinking the one downside to rooming with her surly captain is their perpetually identical schedules that never leave her with the opportunity to air dry after a shower. She opens the refrigerator and grabs a beer then shuts the door, turning to head for the bedroom again only to come face to face with her captain.

Ginny forgets she’s topless until the stricken look overtakes his face. “Baker!”

“Shit!” She covers her breasts, running around him to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

A moment later, there’s a soft knock followed by his voice. “Um… I’m sorry for seeing you, uh your, um… Well I’m gonna go outside. You can finish whatever you, uh… Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

A minute later, the front door shuts. Ginny slumps on the bed, dropping her head in her hands. She dries off and dresses in a hoodie and Nike shorts then downs her beer, thinking she’ll need the liquid courage to face her captain.

At the front door, she considers not going out onto the porch, thinking that they could very plausibly never discuss the moment again. When she recalls the damage done to their relationship by situations undiscussed, she goes back to the kitchen and grabs the six pack of Coronas then heads out on the porch, pushing through the door before she can stop herself.

Mike is sprawled on the futon perpendicular to the large round hanging swing, his legs propped up on a pile of pillows. He frowns as he pulls at his KT tape, and Ginny knows his back is hurting after their grueling exhibition game against the Angels.

“Need some help?” she asks as she sits beside him, taking the pillows from under his legs and draping them over hers.

“You don’t have to do that,” he answers even, hunching over his knees much to his back’s chagrin.

“It’s no problem. Plus, you’re hurting.” He looks like he might want to disagree but Ginny only shakes her head, handing him the pillows to put behind his back. He leans back and sighs, and Ginny hands him a beer that he opens with his teeth. She frowns at him. “You have such nice teeth. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, sips his beer. “I’ve got the money for a new set.”

Ginny snorts then goes to work pulling the tape off. “You know, this would come off in the shower.”

“I’ve tried that. It’s disgusting,” he replies.

“Because this is totally hot.”

“Hey you offered.”

“Only cause you were about to die.”

“I’d have gotten it done.”

“And died shortly after.”

Still dry, the tape offers a bit of resistance as Ginny pulls it off, pointedly ignoring Mike’s relieved sighs as she removes each strip. His eyes closed, he remarks, “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

“I shouldn’t do anything for you since you were peeping at me.”

He snorts. “I think it’s more correct to say you flashed me, rookie.”

“You walked in on me.”

“Topless in a communal space. If you didn’t want to be seen, you would’ve stayed in the bedroom.”

“I thought you went to eat with the guys.”

He shrugs. “I did, but I’m beat.”

“And you missed me.”

“I didn’t.” It doesn’t even sound slightly true.

“You did. You never go anywhere without me.”

“You never go anywhere without me either.”

“Because I can’t get away from you, old man.” She finishes with his left knee and Mike sighs, cool air hitting his skin for the first time in a day. She drops the sticky tape on the floor, starts on the other one.

“It’s not like you have so much to do without me around, with the exception of walking around naked that is.” Ginny snorts, pinches his knee. “You know, you’re the only person who’s ever volunteered to do this for me?”

His admission coils something warm in the pit of her stomach but Ginny offers no comment as she peels off the last strip of tape. Mike lifts his legs to let her up and Ginny stands, goes into the house. She returns a few minutes later with a warm washcloth and Mike cocks an eyebrow at her. “Should I undress?”

Ginny rolls her eyes as she resumes her seat. “Shut up, old man. I’m not gonna bathe you until you’re at least 80, so you’ve only got like three more birthdays.”

Mike laughs as she begins wiping his left knee, working in gentle circles to clean off the adhesive left behind. He sighs. “I remember how Rachel’d sit with me while I did it, but she never helped. Said she’d probably throw up.”

Ginny shrugs. “I’m not surprised.”

“I probably wouldn’t have let her anyway. She’s not very delicate,” he replies as she moves on to his other knee. “I think you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“Well I’m honored,” she replies with a smirk. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

“Gotta soak then maybe a movie or something.”

“You don’t wanna go out with the guys?”

He shakes his head. “I wanna go to bed.”

Ginny looks at him for a moment and Mike expects her to mock him until she sighs and leans back on the futon. “Thank god. I’m exhausted.”

He laughs, reaching out to shove her gently. “Fuck we’re old, Baker.”

Ginny laughs too. “We’re still cooler than the other guys. They’re all…dads.”

“And it’s not like we’re going to bed at nine because we’ve got big plans to go antiquing tomorrow or something.”

“Exactly. We’re being…sensible.”

“Exactly.” He laughs, shaking his head. “And we’re friends. We’re not some old married couple. If we have a few beers, we’re still hanging out.”

Ginny nods. “Want me to start your bath while you try to get up?”

“When my knees work again, I’m gonna kick your ass, Baker. But yeah, thanks.”

She goes into the house, listening to him sigh as he folds up to get off the futon then unfolds to get off it. By the time he makes it into the bathroom, changed out of his sweats and into his robe, Ginny is in the kitchen looking through the cabinets. He goes into the bathroom and gets into the old large clawfoot tub. He sighs as he relaxes in the warm water, leaning back to close his eyes.

His relaxation is short-lived as the door flings open and Ginny stands in the doorway. “Hey Baker just because you showed me yours doesn’t mean I’m gonna show you mine.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “I’m gonna get my revenge for that soon enough but I came to put Epsom salt in your water. You got in here quicker than I thought you would.”

He waves her off but she adds the salt anyway and he sighs as it begins dissolving. She asks, “Want me to hang out?”

He shrugs. “Not like you’re gonna leave anyway.”

Ginny rolls her eyes as she closes the toilet lid and sits on it. “If I didn’t sit with you during your soaks at the clubhouse, nobody else would.”

Mike snorts. “Baker, we’ve been over this. I’m your favorite. You can just admit it.”

“You let me hang around so I must be your favorite too.”

He shrugs again. “Somehow you wormed your way into being my best friend.”

“I’d love to mock you but you’re my best friend too, old man.”

“So should we get bracelets or something?” He gives a silly grin.

“Bracelets today. Tattoos tomorrow.”


	7. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I need you to wake up because I can't do this without you."
> 
> A cancelled series gives Ginny and Mike some free time. Ginny suggests a trip to Tijuana, and Blip tags along, sure that nothing spells disaster like Ginny, Mike, and frozen margaritas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is yet another trashapalooza with so many tropes. There's random road tripping and singing in the car, food sharing, and Blip becoming the reluctant first mate of the S.S. Bawson

Ginny’s been driving down the well-lit but mostly empty highway for about thirty minutes when Mike begins snoring beside her, creating a slumbering cacophony with Blip who’s been out cold in the backseat since their last stop about two hours before. A cancelled exhibition game gave them an unexpected free day, and Ginny had suggested a trip to Tijuana, reasoning she and Mike could split the drive easily. Blip had agreed to tag along, sure this was a disaster waiting to happen.

They’ve been on the road for about four hours, finally stopping to restock their snacks and so Ginny could pee, having adamantly refused to go on the side of the road like the guys. She frowns at her sleeping companions for a moment before she reaches over to nudge Mike awake. He snorts awake then frowns at her. “What’s the matter, rookie?”

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” she replies.

“Do what?” he yawns.

“Stay awake.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Entertain me.”

Mike rolls his eyes as he straightens up in his seat, turns up the volume on the radio. “Oh look, instant entertainment that doesn’t require you bothering me.”

Ginny pulls onto the shoulder, digs her phone out of its crevice between the seat and console then plugs it up to the AUX cord. She thumbs through her music, asks, “Hey, do you like Train?”

She looks over at him in the dim light, expecting to be mocked endlessly for her gloriously uncool taste in music (Blip’s already done so on several occasions), but finds Mike smiling at her. “I fucking love Train.”

“Let’s do this, old man.” She starts the music then pulls back onto the road.

A short while later they startle Blip awake and he blinks at he sits up in the backseat, blinking at them as they dance in their seats, singing loudly. “ _If it's love/ And we're two birds of a feather/ Then the rest is just whatever/ And if I'm addicted to loving you/ And you're addicted to my love too/ We can be them two birds of a feather/ That flock together!_ ”

He looks out the window as they pass the sign welcoming them to California and takes comfort in the fact that Tijuana isn’t far, particularly so he can call Evelyn to let her know Ginny’s found a companion for her terrible taste in music. He records them for proof as well as mocking purposes when they get back together with the team then sits back in his seat, smiling at Ginny’s Beats folded in the passenger seat’s back pocket. He puts them on, leans back on the seat and tries to resume his sleep.

“You hungry?” Mike asks as the song changes.

“Is that even a question?” Ginny replies.

“I would kill a man for some fried chicken.”

“I don’t even need the chicken, just a can of Crisco and a spoon.”

“Sounds like we need to find a diner, Baker.”

Ginny reaches back and taps Blip’s knee until he awakes, frowning as he takes off her headphones. “I’m not singing backup.”

Ginny snorts, replies, “We’re stopping for food.”

“Thank God. I’m starving.”

An exit sign indicates it leads to a Waffle House and Ginny gets off the highway. They find the Waffle House a few streets over, Mike frowning at its dingy windows. “This place looks disgusting.”

“That’s how you know the food’s gonna be good,” Blip advises. “If the staff only has one full set of teeth between them, the food’s gonna be the best thing you’ve ever eaten.”

Mike turns his dubious gaze on Ginny who nods. “It’s true.”

“That is absolutely not how restaurants should be judged.” They enter the warm diner and Mike frowns, pointing out the health score. “They got an 85.”

Ginny shrugs. “It’s a decent enough grade.”

“Oh good. I always wanted to get E. coli from a plate of eggs and bacon.”

Blip rolls his eyes as they sit down at an empty table. “That’s probably for like dirty bathrooms or something. You sound like Ev.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Ginny announces then looks at Mike.  “Order me whatever."

A waitress stops at their table, her grin composed almost entirely of shining gold. “Welcome to Waffle House? What can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have a Coke,” Blip answers.

“I’ll have Sprite, and,” he gestures to Ginny’s empty seat, her jacket left behind, “a cup of coffee. Six creams, six sugars, and a spoon not a stirrer. And a cup of ice.”

The waitress nods and walks away. Mike thumbs through his notifications, sparse because he’s with Ginny so she has no reason to text him, before Blip’s lingering gaze makes him stop. He says, “If you’re ready to come out, wait for Ginny. She and I have a pool and she’ll never believe me.”

Blip snorts, rolls his eyes then shakes his head. “I’m just wondering if you know how I take _my_ coffee.”

“Rectally is my theory,” Mike replies.

The waitress returns with their drinks. She pulls a pad out of her apron pocket, asks, “Know what you want yet?”

“I need one All Star with cheese in the grits but not the eggs, and extra crispy bacon, and sausage instead of the toast. And burn the sausage,” Mike answers as Ginny returns. “And another one with cheese in the grits and the eggs, and sausage.”

“Ooh and—”

“An extra side of hash browns,” Mike finishes, tossing her a smile.

Blip watches without comment, wondering when the two became so in sync, then tells the waitress, “Just two waffles and a plate of sausage for me.”

She nods and leaves to put their order in. Ginny goes to work mixing her coffee, asks, “So how are we gonna split the beds? We’ve only got two.”

Blip chuckles. “I’m not sleeping with Mike. Our relationship doesn’t have that spark anymore.”

“Maybe it would if you’d fix yourself up a little,” Mike replies.

“Hey I work all day and I’m raising two kids. I’d like to see you do what I do and still look like you did when we met.”

Ginny laughs, bumps Mike with her elbow. “We can share. We share at home.”

He bumps her back, shakes his head. “I thought the point of this trip was to get some space, Baker.”

Ginny blinks at her catcher. “Tell me how going on a road trip with your roommate who you’re with all the time is going to provide space.”

“I’d have my own bed for once. Don’t have to wake up with you spooning me.”

“Do you know how many people would pay to spoon me? Count yourself lucky, old man.”

Mike snorts. “I can’t think of anything I’d spend less money on.”

Ginny pours her coffee over the ice in her extra cup, replies, “Well fine. Have fun splitting that full-sized bed with Blip.”

“There’s probably a pull-out bed,” Blip suggests.

“Well I’m not sleeping on it,” Ginny answers.

“With my back, I’d do better on the floor,” Mike replies.

Blip shakes his head. “Assuming I fit, I’ll take it.”

The waitress arrives with their food and sets it on the table.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” Blip asks, watching Ginny dig into her food while Mike thoroughly inspects his plates. “It’s food, Blanche. Eat it.”

“Hitting the beach then a bar or something. Maybe a club,” Ginny answers as she eats her hash browns. Mike takes a hunk with his fork and Blip’s eyebrows rise because he’s never seen anyone brave enough to just take Ginny’s food, but to his surprise the pitcher offers no backtalk except, “Oh yeah, old man. Pile on the carbs. Your knees are gonna love that.”

“I’m in the prime of my life, rookie.”

“Assuming you live to be 100, I’d say so,” she teases.

A few hours later, they check into their hotel. Ginny immediately heads into the bathroom to shower.

“Don’t use all the hot water,” Mike warns.

Ginny doesn’t reply, simply shutting the door behind her. She skips washing her hair and is done in about ten minutes, surprising both her teammates. Mike goes into the bathroom next, still warm with the steam from her shower and Ginny sits on the bed, yawning as she pins her hair up. A thought occurs to her and she grins at the bathroom door. Blip shakes his head. “Whatever you’re about to do, let me leave first.”

He goes out onto the small terrace and Ginny watches him pull out his phone, probably to call Evelyn and the boys. She waits a few minutes, giving Mike time to get comfortable in the shower before she creeps to the door and opens it quietly. Stifling a giggle at him singing along to music blaring from his phone, Ginny eases over to the shower and reaches for the curtain. Just as she whips it back, a pair of hands clutch her sides and she shrieks, much to Mike’s delight.

“Where did you come from?” she demands of her fully dressed captain.

“I was behind the door,” he laughs. “Come on rookie, did you really think I wouldn’t be expecting that?”

She remains silent, only shaking her head at him before she leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She isn’t surprised when she hears the lock click behind her. She plops on the bed, and Blip shakes his head. “What was that?”

“My first attempt at revenge,” she replies with a shrug.

Blip shakes his head, deciding not to ask and instead pulling out the sofa bed. He frowns at the sight of the mattress and quickly puts it back. “That’s not happening.”

He plops on the other bed and looks over at Ginny to tell her she and Mike will have to work out their sleep issue but he’s not surprised to find her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with even breaths. Mike emerges from the bathroom in his pajama pants and frowns at the sight before him, turning to Blip who shakes his head. “That couch wasn’t happening.”

Mike yawns, shrugs. “Whatever. I’m tired.”

He goes over to the bed and nudges Ginny awake. “Come on. Let’s get under the covers, Baker.”

She sleepily obeys, getting up so Mike can pull the covers back. She collapses on the now unmade bed and Mike gets in beside her, pulling the covers up around their waists. Blip shuts off the light and listens as Mike’s breathing evens out, eventually becoming a soft snore that creates a sleeping harmony with Ginny’s.

The oddity of the situation lingers as he relaxes into sleep, and continues into the next morning when he awakes to find them in some semblance of an embrace: Ginny on her back and Mike close beside her, his arm slung over her stomach. Ginny’s kicked the covers off her side of the bed, and their legs are entangled in the sheets.

He gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom. His phone buzzes on the bathroom counter as he flushes the toilet and he answers the phone without looking, already knowing it’s Evelyn. “Hey Evy.”

“Hey baby. What are you doing?”

“About to shower,” he replies.

“Kids up?”

“They’ll probably get up around the crack of noon. You know how Gin sleeps,” he answers.

“So have you figured out why they were running off to the beach yet?”

“Free time in California. Going to the beach is kinda what we do, Ev.”

“Yeah but why would those two plan a trip to the beach and not invite the rest of the team? And why are they suddenly taking trips after living together in that love shack?”

 “Love shack?”

“Sonny said all they do is hang out at home. Alone. Together,” Evelyn replies.

“Sonny?”

“Well it was his week to report.”

“Report what? Ev, what have you done?”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m just the organizer.”

Blip sits on the toilet, prepared for one of his wife’s elaborate missions. “Give me the short version.”

“After Mike moved in with Ginny, Sonny started a pool for how long it would be before they jump each other’s bones. Because I’m smart, I went in for the long shot. But then Dusty said we had it all wrong. According to him, Mike and Ginny have been doing it for so long that they’ve completely settled into normalcy and we all missed it because we were looking too hard, missing the forest because of the trees and all that. So now we’re investigating.”

“I want no part of this.”

“Too late. You’re my on the ground eyes and ears. You have to tell me if you’ve seen anything suspicious.”

The previous night comes hurtling back in technicolor, but Blip shake his head. “I’ve got nothing.”

“But you’re gonna keep me posted, right?”

“Of course.”

They say their goodbyes and hang up. Blip opens the door to leave the bathroom but pauses in the doorway at the sight of Mike and Ginny on the bed. They’ve woken up, Mike lying on his side and flicking Ginny’s nose until she smacks his hand away. “Stop.”

“Get up. You promised me sun and sand,” he replies, going back to bothering her face until she slaps his hand away again.

“Wanna waffle,” she yawns.

“We can’t eat if you don’t get out of bed, Baker.”

She yawns again. “Room service.”

“Come on. We can go to that theme park on the pier. You know you wanna get there before all the families.”

Ginny yawns a third time and sits up, looks down at him with a sleepy frown. “You owe me breakfast, old man.”

“I’m not feeding you anything until you get up and dressed,” he replies.

Ginny rolls off the bed with a huff and Blip finally leaves the doorway, sitting on his bed and continuing to watch in silence. At the moment, he’d have loved to call Evelyn back, tell her he’d interrupted morning canoodling instead of intruding on intimacy that had very little to do with sex. He’s positive Mike and Ginny aren’t sleeping together—not yet, anyway—but they’d done something much more troubling: They’d fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will have a second part with Ginny and Mike on the beach then at a club, and jealous!Mike will make an appearance.


	8. Jinx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence."
> 
> Mike jinxes Ginny then has to spend the whole day without her chatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did this with an AU Bawson bit and mikeginsanity suggested I try it in canon

Ginny manages to slide into Mike’s chair just before he sits down. He jumps off her lap and whirls around, his eyes wide. “What the hell, Baker?”

“My chair’s still squeaking,” she replies with a shrug.

“Get up.”

“No,” she answers in the same tone. Mike shrugs, resumes his seat on her lap, and Ginny huffs. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Fine. It’s leg day anyway.” She settles back in the chair and begins swiping though her phone. Mike smirks as he leans back on her chest, earning another huff.

“I know this hurts,” he remarks with a grin.

“Eh. My legs are starting to go numb.”

He lifts off her slightly. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Fine.” He resumes his seat on her lap but Ginny wiggles her legs from under him and wraps them around his waist. Mike stiffens, his face hot as he turns to look at her. “What are you doing?”

“Making you uncomfortable,” she answers with a sneer.

Mike laughs. “If you were Stubbs, I’d be uncomfortable.”

“Hey!” Stubbs looks at Mike with a frown that quickly becomes a smile when he spies Ginny. He shrugs. “Point taken on that one.”

Mike laughs, nods, reclines against Ginny and pulls out his own phone. Blip enters the room and makes his way over to them, frowning as he looks them over. “What the fuck are y’all doing?”

“I’m not moving,” they reply simultaneously.

Mike turns to grin at Ginny. “Jinx! You owe me a Coke, rookie.”

She opens her mouth to reply but Mike holds up his hand. “You can’t talk until you buy me a Coke.”

She shrugs, nudges him to let her out of the chair. Mike follows her to the vending machines in the hallway, Blip watching them go with a shake of his head. Ginny swipes her card and hits the button on the machine for a Coke, frowning when the “sold out” light flashes. Mike snickers. “That’s literally never happened before. I think God wants a break from your chatter too.”

Ginny scowls at him and his smile widens. “You wanna be a smart ass so bad, don’t you? Too bad, huh?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and turns to go back into the common room. Mike follows her back to the chair and gestures to it. “Go ahead. I’ve won enough today.”

She sits in the chair, rolling her eyes at him as he tells Blip, “We’re sold out of Coke.”

Blip smirks, offering no comment.

Mike spends most of practice taunting Ginny because she can’t reply, only growing bored of their game at lunch when he realizes Ginny is seemingly content not talking to him. She sits in his chair, grilled cheese in one hand and her phone in the other, thumbing along. He drags her squeaking chair over from her cubby to his and sits down, looking at the side of her face. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

She makes the charades symbol for movie and Mike snorts. “Now I have to play charades with you?”

“Better than Pictionary,” Blip jokes as he joins them. Ginny glares at him and he shrugs. “What? I’m not the one who threw a plate at her teammates.”

“For a pitcher, you have really shit aim by the way.” Mike laughs and Ginny flips him off, goes back to her phone. “So what do you wanna watch tonight?”

She holds up four fingers and Mike nods. “Four words.”

She holds up her index finger then holds up both hands and moves them back and forth. Blip frowns. “The fuck is that?”

“Walls?” Mike guesses. Ginny gestures that he’s close then repeats the gesture. “Hallway?”

She nods then shakes her head.

“Okay so it’s like a hallway.”

“Are you really gonna do this with her?”

“We’re charades champs. I’ll get it.” He and Ginny win charades religiously, much to their teammates’ chagrin.

Ginny shakes her head then imitates sleeping.

“Sleeping? A movie about sleeping?”

Ginny nods, points to him then repeats the gesture.

“Okay a man sleeping. What else?”

She points to her left ring finger then her face.

“Sleeping and a wedding?” Blip questions, frowning at her.

She looks at Mike urgently, pointing at her ring finger.

“Have I seen this before?” She imitates crying and he snorts. “I didn’t cr—Oh! _It’s While You Were Sleeping_!”

Blip looks at him in confusion. “ _While You Were Sleeping_ made you cry?”

“I didn’t cry. It was just…moving,” he replies defensively.

Blip looks at Ginny. “Did he cry?”

She nods and Mike shakes his head. “She’s lying.”

“Sure she is,” Blip answers.

xXx

A few annoyingly silent hours later, Mike finds Ginny in her cubby, putting her things in her bag. She turns around at the sound of his footsteps and looks at him expectantly. Mike holds out a can of Coke. “Here. Just buy it from me.”

Ginny crinkles her eyebrows at him and he sighs. “Look, it’s been weird not talking to you all day. Just buy it from me so you can chatter. I know you’re about to burst.”

She rolls her eyes but pulls a dollar from her purse and holds it out to him. Mike puts the dollar away then opens the can. Ginny frowns. “Hey that’s mine!”

“No it isn’t. You owe _me_ a Coke,” he replies with a smile.

“Split it with me.”

Mike shakes his head. “You can have whatever’s left.”

“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence, old man.”

“Extreme violence, passionate love… It’s all sweaty.” He smiles, quirking his eyebrows at her.

Ginny snorts. “Oh yeah. It’s all I can do to keep the Mike-O-Mania in check.”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me.”

“Whatever.” She hefts her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ve gotta yell at Sal for calling me princess but I’ll meet you at the car.”

“There’s no way I’m missing that.” He follows her to the doorway, leaning against its frame and watching as she shouts at a napping Sal, startling him awake. She doesn’t wait until he’s fully awake, instead putting her knee on his chest to keep him flat and tearing into him, jabbing her finger at him like Al. Mike snickers quietly, having gotten his ass put in a sling for calling Ginny “sweetheart” not too long ago. Blip nudges him out of the doorway then follows his line of sight to Ginny.

“First you’re happy she’s not talking and now you’re shitting rainbows because she’s talking. Make up your mind, Lawson.” He shakes his head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh okay. I’m supposed to pretend you didn’t send that red-headed rookie on a store run for one can of Coke.”

“I was thirsty.” Mike shrugs.

“Understatement.”

Mike shoots him a look then turns back to Ginny who’s devolved into scuffling with Sal, rolling around on the floor like children. “Break it up, Baker.”

Sal uses the distraction to pin Ginny on the floor, his forearm across her chest. Ginny squeezes his sides and he jumps, giving her the chance to wiggle free. She gives Sal a kick to his butt for good measure then fixes her hair. Mike chuckles, shaking his head. “Let’s go, Frazier.”

“I’m definitely an Ali. Just look at this smile,” she replies, bumping him with her hip as she passes.

“I wish y’all would just bang already,” Sonny interjects as he watches Mike watch Ginny.

“What?” Mike frowns at the back of the pitcher’s head.

Sonny shrugs. “You know how when you were little and you liked a girl, you’d pull her pigtails? This is some stunted adult version of that. All the weird shit y’all do is just pulling each other’s pigtails.”

Mike snorts. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Sure it is,” Sonny replies with a smirk then leaves him and Blip alone again.

Mike looks at Blip for conformation of his derision but Blip only shakes his head and walks to his car.


	9. Putting the Wife in Work Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Mike's peculiar bond sparks suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my Pitches, this can be counted as a receipt.

Mike shakes off the twinge of pain in his arm, lines up his swing again. The burning sensation makes him look down at his arm and he frowns at the sight of the stinger sticking out of his arm. He quickly makes his way to Blip, pointing at his arm, his breath already choppy. “Need…medic…quick!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Blip asks, frowning at his captain’s red face.

Mike points at his arm. “Sting!”

Blip quickly signals for a trainer who hurries over. “He’s having an allergic reaction.”

“I’d say so,” the trainer replies, pulling an Epi pen from her bag. She asks Mike, “Can you do this yourself?”

He shakes his head. “Never…done. Hurry!”

The trainer nods and squats, quickly jabbing the pen into the fleshiest part of his thigh. Blip watches as his breathing relaxes. “You okay?”

Mike nods, and the trainer tells him, “You’ve still gotta go to the hospital.”

Mike sighs, asks, “Why?”

“The effects of the Epi pen are gonna wear off in like 15 minutes. You’ve still gotta get an actual treatment,” she answers. “And you’re gonna need someone to meet us there.”

“Am I still your emergency contact?” Blip asks.

Mike shakes his head. “No. It’s, uh, Ginny.”

“Ginny?” Blip quirks his eyebrows at his captain.

“Uh yeah. After she got injured, we just sort of…”

“If we’re gonna make it in time, we gotta go now. Call Ginny and have her meet us there,” the trainer interjects.

“I’ll call her from the ambulance,” Mike replies.

“No no.” Blip grins. “Let me. I insist.”

Mike shrugs the follows her to the ambulance. Blip heads for his own car, swiping through his contacts until he gets to Ginny’s name. She answers on the third ring. “Hey Gin. Mike got stung by a bee—”

“He’s allergic to bees,” Ginny interrupts.

“So I’ve learned,” Blip replies. “Well, he’s headed to Mercy and you’re his emergency contact.”

“I’m on my way.”

They say their goodbyes and Blip follows the ambulance to the hospital. When he reaches the emergency room, he quickly heads to the admission desk where Mike stands beside the medic trying to coax him into a wheelchair.

“I’m…fine,” he insists, shaking his head.

“Sit down Mike,” Blip replies, pushing the chair toward him.

Mike shakes his head and the nurse shrugs, grabbing her clipboard. “Whatever. Come with me.”

He looks back at Blip. “Ginny?”

“She’s on her way. I’ll stay until she gets here.”

Mike nods and the three head down the hall to an examination room. The nurse asks, “Already had your Epi shot?”

He nods again as he climbs on the table and the nurse replies, “I’m gonna get you a dose of antihistamines. Do you have any hives?”

He lifts his shirt and examines his stomach. “A few.”

She nods and leaves the room. Blip sits in the chair beside the exam table and looks at Mike. “So Ginny’s your emergency contact?”

He nods. “After she got hurt, I found out I was her emergency contact so I returned the favor. It’s not that weird since we’re always together.”

“Right,” Blip replies.

Mike squints at him for a moment then looks down at his stomach, frowning at the hives that he’s sure will spread before the day is over. The sound of footsteps announces Ginny’s entrance into the room and she smirks at him. “I was just about to take my afternoon nap. Does the term “problem child” mean anything to you, Lawson?”

He shrugs. “Oh yeah I let a bee sting me just to see you. It’s not like we live together and see each other more than any two people should or anything. No, this was all a ruse to get you to rub calamine lotion on my stomach.”

Ginny rolls her eyes and sits beside Blip who hands her the clipboard with Mike’s sparsely filled in information on it. She frowns at him. “How do you not know this stuff about him?”

“He’s not _my_ husband,” Blip mutters.

“Not anymore. You’ve really let yourself go, Sanders,” Mike replies with a sneer.

“Oh and you look exactly like you did when we met,” Blip snorts. Ginny shakes her head at them as she fills in Mike’s info. Blip watches with a mixture of amusement and confusion as she scratches out Mike’s middle name and replaces it. “His middle name isn’t Isaiah?”

“It’s Isaac,” Ginny replies as if it’s common knowledge, “which used to be his first name until he changed them around.”

“What?”

“He went by Mike anyway so he figured he should make it official,” she answers, moving on to his birthday and social security number.

“You know his social security number?”

“I have the card because he’s already lost it once this year,” she answers. Blip stares at her profile, thinking she’s eerily Evelyn-esque at the moment as she asks Mike, “What kind of antihistamines did they give you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Dimetane makes you fuzzy. Remember when you ate those cookies?”

“He’s allergic to _cookies_?” Blip asks.

Ginny shakes her head, moving on to fill in the allergen portion of the form. “No, tree nuts. Walnuts, almonds, pine nuts, Brazil nuts, and pecans. And bananas, shellfish, and penicillin.”

“Jesus, you need a bubble,” Blip remarks.

“She’s allergic to milk,” Mike interjects, scratching his stomach.

“Stop scratching. You’ll spread them,” Ginny chides. She finishes the form then gives Blip back the clipboard.

He reads through her loopy handwriting in wonder. “How have I known you so long without learning this stuff?”

“The better question is why he’d make you his emergency contact and not tell you this stuff.”

“He didn’t even tell me I wasn’t his emergency contact.”

“He’s in the room,” Mike huffs, still scratching. Ginny walks over and smacks his hands away then opens a drawer on the table and plucks a pair of blue gloves from it.

“If you’re gonna scratch, put these on.”

“Yes mother.” Mike rolls his eyes but pulls the gloves on. He’s surprised to find that rubbing the cool latex on his hives feels better than scratching them.

A short while later, Mike convinces the nurse to discharge him halfway through his observation.

“How’d you get here?” he asks then scowls. “You better not have driven my car.”

“Uber, old man,” he answers. “But it’s not like I can’t drive. I’m just not very good at it.”

“A distinction with very little difference.”

“I’ll drop y’all off. It’s on my way,” Blip replies and they head to his car.

Mike stretches out on the backseat and Ginny isn’t surprised to find him asleep when they reach their bungalow. She tells Blip, “They must have given him Benadryl. It puts him out.”

Blip wants to question how she knows but he finds he’d rather not hear the answer as it gives him one less thing to tell Evelyn. She gets out of the car and opens the back door, leaning in to shake Mike awake. “Come on, old man.”

“Where are we?” he asks as he sits up.

“Home,” she answers, shaking her head.

“I’m hungry,” he replies as he gets out of the car.

“Okay. You want some pizza?”

“Yeah,” he nods as they head up the walkway.

Ginny turns to wave at Blip over her shoulder, calling, “Don’t forget family meal tomorrow!”

He nods, waves back before pulling away. In the house, Mike plops on the bed and Ginny pulls his t-shirt off. “You want some lotion on your stomach?”

He shakes his head then lays back on the pillows, a goofy smile on his face. “I feel… _nice_.”

“I can tell,” she replies with a shake of her head as she turns on the television. She leaves the room, gets him a bottle of water, then returns. “Drink this. Benadryl gives you cotton mouth.”

“Can you keep a secret?” he whispered loudly as he takes the bottle. Ginny isn’t surprised when he chugs half of it then gives it back.

“I guess.”

“I’m in love with you,” he says with a smile then he frowns, “and I’m terrified.”

Her stomach drops as her eyes widen. “Of…of what?”

“Spiders. They’re every-fucking-where,” he answers and she exhales, deciding to take his confession as drug-addled nonsense and nothing more.

“I won’t let any spiders get you, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, reaching out to tweak her nose. “You’re my favorite. You know that?”

“I know. You’re my favorite too.” She pulls the blankets up around his waist. “Go to sleep and I’ll order your pizza, okay?”

“Okay.” It doesn’t take him long to drift off to sleep.

When he does, Ginny orders the pizza then takes a shower, washing her hair for much longer than necessary as she replays his moony-eyed confession. It can’t mean anything as long as they’re teammates—and definitely not as long as their roommates—but in the privacy of her shower, she allows herself a smile. She’s known he loved her longer than she’s known she loved him back, but there’s something to hearing him say it, something she wouldn’t mind feeling forever.

She gets out of the shower when she hears him thudding around and dresses in one of his old practice shirts and a pair of Nike shorts then leaves the bathroom. She finds him in the kitchen, looking in the refrigerator.

“What are you looking for?”

“Pizza,” he answers.

“It’s not here yet.”

“Can I have a beer?”

“No. You can have some juice,” Ginny replies. He nods, takes the bottle of Simply Orange juice out of the refrigerator and Ginny watches as he takes the top off and drinks from it. She shakes her head, shepherds him back to bed.

“My stomach itches,” he comments as he puts the top back on the juice bottle.

“I’m gonna get your lotion. Don’t scratch, okay?”

“Okay.” He opens the bottle again, reminding Ginny of a large baby with the way he holds it, and she heads to the bathroom to get the calamine lotion she’d bought after his run in with the pecan sandies. She gets his lotion then goes back to the bedroom. Mike has put the juice bottle aside, now concerned with frowning at the television. Ginny hands him the remote then tells him, “Lift your shirt.”

Mike stretches out before her and lifts his shirt, exposing his stomach. Ginny rubs the lotion on his stomach, frowning at its medicinal scent. He gives her a loopy grin. “This is why you’re my favorite, Gin.”

“I know,” she replies. “After you eat, we’re gonna go to bed, okay? You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

He nods obediently as he sits up, resuming his original position and Ginny gives him his bottled water. Their pizza arrives a short while later and Ginny settles the box between them, watching as Mike eats three slices then promptly dozes off. She eats three slices as well then takes the box to the kitchen, putting it on the stove so he can find it if he awakes in the middle of the night. When she gets back into bed with him, Mike throws an arm around her waist and Ginny lays beside him in what’s become their typical sleeping position.

The next morning Ginny awakes with Mike’s head on her shoulder, his face in her neck. His snore is gentle as he breath warms the side of her neck and though her arm is tingly, she has no desire to move. Judging by the evenness of his breathing, she decides he’s sleeping deeply enough that she can run her fingertip over his eyelashes, so long that they nearly curl back to the lid. He doesn’t stir and she moves to the bridge of his nose, running her fingertip down it then lining his lips. She traces the border where his beard meets his face, marveling at the smoothness of his skin contrasting the prickle of his recently trimmed hair.

Mike’s been awake the whole time but he doesn’t move, relishing her attention as she rakes her fingers through his beard. He finally cracks a smile, mutters, “Ladies _love_ the beard.”

Ginny laughs, giving it a tug. “I was trying to decide if I could shave you before you woke up.”

He reluctantly untangles their legs then rolls off her. Ginny rolls her shoulder a few times then sits up and yawns. Mike sits up too, runs a hand over his sleep-rumpled hair. “I think you just wanted to molest me in my inebriated state.”

Ginny snorts. “If I was gonna take advantage of you, I’d have done it last night. You were out of your mind.”

He pauses in getting off the bed, looking over his shoulder to squint at her until Ginny squirms under his gaze. “What?”

He shakes his head, gets up. “Nothing. I must have had a dream about you or something.”

“Cuddling me in your sleep, dreaming about me… Forget Mike-O-Mania. The Ginnsanity is real,” Ginny replies with a weak smile as she gets out of bed. “Is your stomach better?”

Mike lifts his shirt and examines his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she calls from the kitchen. “Get in the shower. We’ve gotta get to the farmer’s market before it gets too late.”

“You can go first. I’m hungry,” he replies.

“There’s pizza on the stove.”

An hour later, they head out the door. Mike wonders how he never knew Ginny liked sundresses back in San Diego, her penchant for workout clothes much more apparent. This one is almost too short to be considered a dress, whispery cotton fluttering around her thighs and sprinkled with paisleys. He pointedly ignores the thin straps criss-crossing her back as she gets in the passenger seat.

“Let’s stop at Starbucks,” she requests, reclining her seat.

“Yes dear,” he teases, tossing her a smile.

Ginny scrunches her nose at him then turns up the radio, looking out the window before he can see her face flush. She grins at the Katy Perry song on the radio but Mike snorts, changes the station until he finds a 90’s station. Ginny gives a questioning look. “Please tell me you never dressed like Kriss Kross.”

“I had the overalls but my mom wouldn’t let me get my hair braided,” he replies with a smile.

Ginny laughs. “Please tell her I will pay good money for any pictures she has.”

Mike shrugs. “I was cooler than a fan, rookie.”

“I can only imagine if that’s how you describe yourself.”

A song begins and he grins widely, turns the volume up. “Senior Prom 1995. Olivia Grant. I got the whole baseball team to back me up in the middle of the hallway. She never stood a chance.”

Ginny laughs, her head falling back on the seat. “That is so… I don’t even have words for it.”

 “Whatever. She said yes…more than once.” He grins. “I begin to take the long way home/ Just so I can be alone/ And think of how to say/ My heart is here to stay/ Hey I’m in love with you/ I think the world of you…”

“She went for that?” Ginny cracks a beat too late, her voice sounding unnatural to her ears.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have,” he replies with a smile though he notices she doesn’t look at him.

They pull into the Starbucks parking lot and Mike enters the drive-thru lane. “Even though you should know this by now, venti chai with three pumps of raspberry, almond milk, and light ice.”

“Got it.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

Mike rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Absolutely not.”

They make it to the speaker and a chipper voice greets them. “Would you like to try our black tea lemonade?”

“Uh, sure,” Mike replies.

“What size?”

“Regular.”

“Starbucks doesn’t sell regular,” Ginny mutters.

Mike smirks at her judge-y eyes but the cashier doesn’t question him, instead asking, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, a venti iced chai with three pumps of raspberry, almond milk, and light ice. And a double smoked bacon croissant and a plain croissant.”

“That’ll be $16.98. Pull forward please,” the cashier chirps.

Mike pulls forward then turns to grin at Ginny who rolls her eyes at him though she’s grinning. “Want a pat on the head?”

“Shut up, rookie,” he replies with a smile.

X

A few hours later, they return home laden with grocery bags. Mike sets to work preparing the spice blend for his meatballs, gripes, “Next time you wanna cook family meal, leave me out of it.”

“It’s your recipe, old man,” Ginny replies as she begins dicing tomatoes. “Did you pick out your clothes?”

“For what?”

“For tonight. You’re not wearing those ratty old sweats.”

“I’m also not dressing up to sit around with people I see every day.”

“Did I ask you for a three-piece suit?” Ginny rolls her eyes. “Just put on jeans and shirt. Ooh wear that purple one. You look good in it.”

Mike grins. “Tell me about it.”

Ginny rolls her eyes, points at him with an ear of corn. “You know, this look suits you. Maybe in another life you were a pudgy old butcher.”

“I like to think in another life you were less of a snarky little pain in the ass,” he replies with a smile.

“But this is the me you got stuck with. You could not be luckier, old man.”

After she finishes the tomatoes, Mike gets the large pot they’d had to find a restaurant supply store to get on the stove and fills it with water. Ginny takes the spaghetti noodles out of the bag and hands them to him. Mike takes the pasta spoon from the drawer. He holds it up for her to see. “Fun fact about this spoon, the hole in the middle isn’t just for decoration. It’s for portioning. Some people like to use the handful rule but my hands are too big for that. Either way, we’re cooking for enough people that we can just toss both bags in. Whatever they don’t eat, they’ll take home.”

Ginny opens and bag but Mike holds up a hand to stop her. “Do you know how long it takes to cook pasta, rookie?”

Ginny would like to be flippant but instead shakes her head. “A while, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “Ten minutes. It’s the last thing we’re gonna deal with. First and foremost, the sauce. You can have the most perfect pasta in the world. If the sauce is gross, nobody’s gonna care.”

Ginny sits on a stool, watching Mike grease a pan then set it on a burner. “Did Rachel teach you to cook?”

He shakes his head. “Rachel leaving taught me to cook. She wasn’t a great cook, but she was way better than me. After she left, I suddenly had this kitchen full of cookbooks and no one to use them. So one night—one of my worst nights to be honest—I pulled one out to make these brownies she’d make for me that I loved. Turns out they were from a box, but mine weren’t terrible. They were even better the second time. And I got to thinking that maybe what she did wasn’t so spectacular after all.”

“So you learned to cook out of spite?”

He shrugs. “It was out of love originally. I always thought she’d be so impressed when she came back and I could cook gourmet meals. When I realized she wasn’t coming back, I decided being the most incredible husband a second wife could have would be the best revenge. Double if she was like a Canadian model or something.”

“Why Canadian?”

“I’m a Leafs fan,” he replies with another shrug. He puts the tomatoes in a slightly smaller pot then begins chopping herbs. He grins at Ginny. “I’m letting you in on my sauce recipe, rookie. Only two people know it, and one of them’s God so you should feel special.”

Ginny laughs. “I’m so honored.”

Ginny watches him work diligently, putting his sauce together, his frown somehow relaxed. He asks, “Have you picked out your clothes, Baker? Cause I won’t have you embarrass me tonight.”

Ginny laughs, rolling her eyes as she hops off the counter. “I’ll go put together an outfit that will meet your approval.”

“Good luck with that.”

Ginny heads to their bedroom and Mike takes his phone out of his pocket. He texts everyone except Ginny: Family meal tonight at 6. Baker’s cooking. Everybody comes. Everybody eats. Everybody says something nice. Am I clear?

He gets a reply from everyone within minutes, even Al and Buck. A few minutes later, Ginny returns, announcing, “Change of plans. I’m wearing your purple shirt.”

“Rookie, that’s Prada. You don’t have the class for it,” he replies.

“Hey that dress I ruined was Prada.”

“Which further proves my point.”

X

Blip very rarely makes decisions he regrets as much as he regrets carpooling with Sonny, Dusty, and Omar, especially when Omar asks, “So you guys think Ginny can cook?”

Sonny immediately shakes his head. “She’s too pretty. Women that beautiful can’t make anything but reservations and drama.”

“Ginny’s not like a _girl_ girl though. She might be a good cook,” Omar replies.

“She’s done nothing but play baseball her whole life. When would she have learned?” Dusty asks.

Blip shakes his head. “She keeps books in her oven at the Omni. I’m voting no on her cooking.”

“So who cooked?” Sonny asks.

“Mike can cook,” Dusty answers. “You think he cooked for her and lied about it?”

“You think Lawson would miss the chance to take credit for something?”

“He might…for his girlfriend.”

Blip shakes his head. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

“I’m just saying. They’re hosting family meal? Name another non-couple who’s done that?”

“He’s got a point,” Sonny adds.

Omar keeps quiet, not ready to accept that Ginny could be dating someone.

“He’s got nothing,” Blip replies.

“Come on! She’s his emergency contact. They’re shacking up. They’re hosting family meal. It’s got a beak, feathers, and webbed feet. Gentlemen, I do believe it’s a duck.”

“Pelicans have all those things too,” Blip argues.

Dusty shrugs. “I don’t understand why you’re so against this. Baker’s chill and Cap’s happy. Like not just not frowning. He actually smiles.”

“At Baker. We’re still red-headed step kids to him,” Sonny replies then nods at Omar. “Especially Baker’s biggest fan.”

Omar shakes his head. “He definitely hates Sal more than me now. I learned my lesson about touching Ginny.”

“Stop calling her Ginny,” Blip warns.

“He’s right though. Sal cannot keep his hands off her. I’m thinking of starting a pool to see how long it lasts before Cap takes a bat to his shins.”

“Put my money on Friday. Vending machine’s gonna down to the bare bones. You know they’re gonna fight over candy again, and Cap damn near popped a blood vessel when Sal started tickling her last time they were wrestling.”

“Can we talk about Sal’s restraint though? All that ass and the perfect excuse to touch it but he’s more concerned with a candy bar. He deserves a cape.” Sonny laughs, shakes his head, and Blip pops his arm.

Dusty shakes his head. “Sal’s a breast man. Melina’s got like triple D’s.”

“Baker’s aren’t like tiny though. She’s got a decent handful, which is really all you need if we’re being honest.”

“Plus, the smaller they are, the less room they have to droop,” Omar adds. “I think Ginny would look weird with big ones.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to like a large B cup, maybe a very natural-looking C,” Dusty replies. “You know, implants _under_ the muscle.”

“Shut the fuck up! Everybody!” Blip hits the brakes too hard at a stoplight.

“Sorry. She’s just not our sister,” Sonny apologizes.

They arrive at the house right behind another carful of guys and Mike opens the door, leaning out before he lets them in. “Remember what I said.”

Dusty and Sonny exchange a look that Blip refuses to acknowledge as they enter the small house, everyone piling onto the sectional. Blip asks, “Where’s Ginny?”

“In the bedroom,” he answers, pointing over his shoulder at the closed door.

“One bedroom,” Sonny whispers, nudging Dusty.

Ginny emerges a moment later, Mike’s shirt tied up to reveal a sliver of her stomach between it and the low-slung top of her loose jeans. Mike smirks at her. “So I had to look nice but you get to wear your Sunday chore jeans? That’s bullshit, Baker.”

Ginny shakes her head. “These aren’t my Sunday jeans.”

“They’re still baggy and faded.”

“They’re cute, especially with this shirt.”

“Isn’t that Mike’s shirt?” Sal asks.

“Yeah but I do it way more justice.” She heads for the kitchen and Dusty quirks his eyebrows at Blip who refuses to acknowledge him.

Mike follows Ginny into the kitchen and leans on the counter. “I did something nice for you.”

“I already don’t believe you,” she replies.

“I told everyone you cooked, but I can go out there and confess if you’d like.”

“Wait to see if they like it first.”

Though everyone else has two portions, Ginny only has one. She’s on her third glass when her giggles start and Mike shakes his head at her red face, taking the glass from her. “You’ve had enough.”

She shakes her head, takes her cup back. “I’m not starting tomorrow.”

Mike shrugs because she’s right. “At least it’ll put you to sleep.”

She perches on the arm of the couch and the glass shakes in her hand, a little wine sloshing onto her shirt. Mike frowns. “Really? I give you my best shirt and you ruin it. The ingratitude is unreal.”

He dabs it with his napkin, shaking his head. Ginny suggests, “Put some white wine on it. It’ll neutralize the stain, not that you’ll see it anyway.”

“You don’t just stain Prada. This is exactly what I was talking about.” He dips his napkin in a glass of white wine on the coffee table then wipes the shirt, surprised when it lightens.

“See?”

Still he shakes his head, takes her glass and exchanges it for the one filled with white wine. Ginny looks at it dubiously but he assures, “It’s mine.”

She shrugs then, sips it. By the time Mike sends everyone home, Ginny’s a giggling mess hanging onto his shoulders, waving goodbye to the guys as Mike holds her upright. He smirks at her, shakes his head. “It’s time for bed, Baker.”

“Can I have some more s’ghetti?” she asks.

“No. You can have some more rolls though,” he answers. “Want some sauce too?”

“Yeah.”

She tumbles into the bedroom and Mike goes to the kitchen to get her some rolls and sauce. When he returns, she’s kicked off her pants and reclined on the pillows, dozing off. He shakes his head again, sits on the bed beside her and eats her rolls.

“Gimme,” she mumbles.

Mike helps her upright and gives her a roll, watching as she dips it in the sauce then eats it. He wipes a splotch off her chin, letting her lay her head on his shoulder. Ginny throws her arm over his waist, yawns, “G’night.”

“Night, Baker.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs, beginning to snore before Mike can question her.


	10. By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think I’d leave your side, baby  
> You know me better than that  
> You think I’d leave you down when you’re down  
> On your knees  
> I wouldn’t do that” 
> 
> \- Sade 
> 
> Ginny has a post-surgery setback. Like always, Mike is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when i wrote all the time? Those were the days. Hopefully, i can bring them back. 
> 
> Anyway, this isn’t quite angst, but it’s so not fluff. It’s just bawson doing the thing.

Mike is nearly halfway done with his KitKat when he realizes that he’s gotten through two pieces without losing any of it to Ginny. He removes his earbuds and frowns when his ears aren’t assaulted by her cackling laugh amid the din of the guys’ raucous. He looks around the clubhouse and his frown deepens when he realizes Ginny is nowhere to be seen among the clusters of players suiting up for batting practice.

The catcher pushes himself out of his leather rolling chair and heads for Ginnys private room, a hastily converted equipment closet. He knocks on the door but receives no answer so he knocks again. “Putting on your face, Baker?”

“Out in a minute.”

Mike almost leaves but the warble in her voice gives him pause. Were it anyone else, he’d have left anyway, but he leans against the door and strains to hear what might be going on on the other side. He hears his not quite a rookie huffing and something shuffling. She lets out a high-pitched wince and Mike grabs the doorknob. “I’m coming in, okay?”

He opens the door just wide enough to slip inside then shuts it back, his eyes on the floor because he’d neglected to ask if she was decent before entering. A moment later she assures, “You can look.”

Mike lifts his eyes to his batterymate and realizes what‘s taking her so long to get ready for a practice in which she couldn’t participate. She’d removed her sling to put on her batting gear—a shirt he’s sure is his judging by the way it cloaks her lithe frame—and couldn’t get the contraption back on without using her still fragile arm. He suspects she resents the sling more than the injury itself, if only because it refuses her the ability to pretend she was in invincible. She’d forgone it for weeks, wearing an old lighter sling of Blip’s when her pain proved unbearable and Mike hadn’t commented, but an uptick in the intensity of her PT left her no choice but to wear the sling or walk around in constant pain and shed grudgingly dug it out of the closet in their bedroom. Mike picks the sling up and holds it by its shoulder straps then says, “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”

Ginny nods, her face turned away from him though he can see the grimace threatening to break through her placid expression. He walks over and gently attaches the straps to her strong shoulder then moves around to situate her arm on the padded armrest designed to keep elbow from being jostled. He lifts her arm by her wrist, watching her face as surreptitiously as he can manage so as not to make her think he was trying to take care of her, something she’d chewed Sal out for doing on her second day back when he’d asked if he could take her bag. Mike knew it was his fault, having threatened the entire roster—and Al and Oscar as well—with a fate worse than death if they so much as made her frown.

(“Baker’s coming back in the morning so I’m gonna say this while I’ve got the opportunity.” He levels them all with his scariest scowl. “Absolutely no dicking around. Not one damn bit. No horseplay. No pranks. Not even a wisecrack. She’s not gonna say anything but she’s not a hundred percent and if she so much as flinches because you almost hurt her, you’re gonna answer to. me. Got it?”

The room was silent for a long moment as everyone seemed to weigh the odds of questioning the surly captain, in jest or otherwise. Around the room heads began to nod as everyone realized he was hardly in a joking mood. Even Blip gave a short nod though he and Mike both knew he’d probably beat Mike to the punch punishing someone who hurt Ginny.

Still, it wasn’t lost on the center fielder that Mike had never concerned himself with a player’s injury beyond gruffly telling them to take it easy. Blip hadn’t mentioned it, or that Mike had changed his previously 10-years-strong PT appointment time to a slot more conducive to Ginny’s own regiment. He simply chalked it up to yet another peculiarity of Mike and Ginny’s relationship that he wouldn’t examine lest he decide to give himself a DIY lobotomy directly after.)

He situates her forearm in the groove worn into the foam rest then fastens the strap which holds her wrist in place to prevent her arm from slipping off the rest. “That okay?”

She nods and gives a slight shrug, adjusting her arm so it rests slightly more on her front than her side. She lets out a soft hiss which Mike guesses is the result of her shoulder’s increasingly inflamed rotator cuff. His eyes flicker to her face.

“‘M okay,” she murmurs when she catches him looking.

“I know,” he replies, smoothing her hair back from her face.

She frowns. “Shit. I forgot to put my hair up.”

“I’ll do it,” he answers too quickly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Ginny sits down, letting her sling rest on her lap to give her shoulder a break, and Mike fumbles through her bag until he finds her brush. He takes the hair tie from her free wrist and sets it on the table on which sits a large mirror. After taking a moment to steady his slightly trembling hand, he begins working the paddle brush through her soft curls, pulling her hair back to hold it in his free hand. When it lays flat against her head in uniform waves, he wraps the hair tie around her ponytail three times.

He finishes and looks at her reflection for approval but finds her eyes closed, tear streaks gleaming on the apples of her cheeks. He walks around to stand before her and says nothing, only wipes her face clean. His hand lingers on the curve of her jaw a moment too long and hes positive she uses wiggling out of his gentle grasp to rub her cheek against his warm palm. A short stray curl lays against her left ear and he brushes it into place with his fingers, his eyes trained above her head, giving her the privacy to cry a little more if she wants.

Ginny uses her free hand to wipe her face then stands, inadvertently removing all the space between them, her sling brushing his study midsection. Their eyes shyly meet and she gives an almost imperceptible nod that Mike returns. He recalls a similar incident months before when Ginny was healthy and he was the one pretending to be better than he was.

(A stolen candy bar in hand, Ginny bounds into Mike’s sunroom, a flippant remark about her locating his candy stash on her lips before she catches sight of his scrunched face as he stretches his legs out onto the ottoman that matches the overstuffed leather chair which she’d teased him mercilessly for buying.

He looks up at her, seemingly startled, and quickly arranges his facial expression into something less resembling agony. He sighs, tries to joke. “How did you get in my house?”

Ginny follows his lead as she enters the room completely. “Little tip for the hide-a-key in the rock: it’s supposed to go with other rocks.”

“Not if it’s hidden for when you’re falling down drunk,” he replies with a shrug. Ginny notices the tightness of his voice, his fist clenched on his right thigh. He notices her noticing, gruffly huffs, “Fucking KT tape is supposed to stop me from feeling like I’ve been run over.”

Ginny nods as she walks over. She sits on the edge of the ottoman, gently lifting his legs and situating them atop hers. Mike sighs, the elevation of his legs feeling better. Ginny presses her thumbs into his calves, moving them in gentle circles and focusing her eyes on his legs to avoid looking at his face. She finds an especially tender spot and he gives a sharp inhale that makes her eyes dart to his face. His eyelashes glisten wth what Ginny realizes are tears and he swipes the back of his hand over his face. Ginny averts her gaze just as he opens his eyes. He assures, “I’m okay.”

”I know.”

He tells her, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she answers, finally looking at him openly. She stops rubbing his leg, reaching up to wipe at the tear streaks on his cheeks. Her hand lingers on his face for a moment, her fingers falling to his lips for a moment before she realizes what she’s doing, what they’re so close to doing, and removes her hand.)

They stare at each other for a moment too long before a knock at the door precedes Blip’s voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” they both answer too quickly, both stepping back. Mike bumps the table and Ginny bumps her chair but neither notice as they shuffle for the door.


	11. An Afternoon Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny interrupts Mike’s treasured post-practice nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back to dazzle you with my mediocrity. 
> 
> This is a trashapalooza: platonic bed-sharing, idiots pretending they’re not in love, that thing that happens when the grumpy one gets with the smiley one and they become the heart-melty ones.

It happens on a particularly hot afternoon. It’s easily 101 in the shade, and so sticky with humidity that a shower makes Mike feel somehow grosser than practice. Still, as he expects, everything about training—even the hazing (Butch has nailed her cleats. Sonny, Dusty, and Hanan have taped her to the dugout wall, a feat that surprised even Al. Sal has stolen her clothes while she showered, a prank that proved less funny than originally hoped when Ginny announced she’d gladly leave the shower as she was and everyone blanched at the idea of seeing her naked, or rather the consequences they’d suffer at Mike’s hands if they looked.)—delights his chipper not quite a rookie. But the heat and the rigor practice makes him crave their cramped bedroom with its too big bed and surprisingly effective ceiling fan.

He’s nearly asleep when she bounds into the room, hopping onto the bed and announcing, “Blip invited everybody over to swim.”

“They’ll still be there when I wake up,” he answers, not opening his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nap time, rook.”

“You sleep a lot.”

“Some would say I’m old.”

“That’d be me.”

“You have to lay down if you’re not gonna leave.”

He expects her to leave but hopes she doesn’t and tries not to react when she plops beside him. She sighs. “What now?”

“Relax, Baker.”

“Meh.” She gives an insolent squirm but remains in bed. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

“But you asked me to stay. You have to entertain me.”

“ _That_ is not what happened.”

“Mike.” The way she whines his name, so reminiscent of all the other girls who’ve shared his bed, makes him open his eyes briefly. She looks especially twenty-something today, her hair wound in French braids that brush her collarbone. She is without Blip’s old sling today, her arm free in her over-washed gray t-shirt that covers her neon Nike shorts. He wonders if God is staring at her sun-drenched profile in the still afternoon too, if all of heaven has taken a moment to admire.

She turns to peer at him and he quickly scrunches his expression into something like annoyance. “Alright, rookie. Let me tell you about my very first game with this shitty little rookie, or as I like to think of it ‘The Day the MLB Stood Still’.”

She snorts but closes her eyes. By the time he’s up to his speech to her, her breathing is even and her body is curled around itself as she faces him, her weak arm extended as if she’s reaching for him. She gives no response when he stops talking, or when he brushes his fingertips over her rough knuckles. Still, when he slips his fingers between her own, her hand closes around his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna try to do some with the rookie hazing and Mike getting to be his “im not in love with Ginny. I just happen to like her more than anyone ever” self when I get done with my PSA gift. 
> 
> Don’t forget to comment xoxoxo


	12. Photographs and Phonecalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blip gets more than he bargained for when he goes through Mike’s cubby. Later, Mike and Ginny have a late night phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday Mike and Ginny won’t be so obnoxiously but obliviously in love. Today is not that day.

  
Blip finds it in Mike's cubby drawer. He's looking for something to joke about at Mike's birthday roast and hoping his friend has hair dye or icy hot. Instead of anything comically incriminating, he finds a snapshot of Ginny from her own birthday party, taken with 35mm film, Ginny's latest obsession. Mike rented out Boardner's (a place whose mention always made them look at each other softly) for the entire night, ordered wonton tacos (sans cilantro, naturally) seemingly by the hundred, and booked Masego (Ginny's obsessed with "classical trap music", whatever the fuck that is... in any case, it makes her smile). Ginny had danced out of her shoes and eventually plopped on a couch to watch her teammates dance off the effects of an open bar. Blip guesses this is when Mike snapped the picture of Ginny, a laugh animating her already luminous face.

He holds the picture for a moment, turning it over and frowning at his captain's left-handed writing ("There might still be a place for us somewhere." -C.B.) and it occurs to him Mike has no reason to take pictures of his rookie (the paparazzi does more than enough). His frown deepens when he uncovers yet another picture, this one from their last secret football game, Ginny and Mike giving the camera their best grimaces, matchimg grease paint stripes under their eyes. 

(If Al has told them once, he's told them a million times not to play non-baseball games. Especially after the frisbee incident. Not only are they not to play, Mike and Ginny are definitely not to be teammates. That rule came after the flag football incident that got Stubbs an "accidentally" broken nose.

In all fairness, Stubbs was the one who said the flag had to be _removed_ to count. He didn't plan on Ginny being stronger than she looks, or her tackling him over Mike's bent frame to take his flag.

Ginny didn't plan on him being uncoordinated enough to land on his face. Neither Mike or Ginny planned on Al reading them the riot act for their shenanigans or their touchdown dance routine.

But it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, so they geared up for an ill-advised infield vs outfield rematch, this one ruled two-hand touch to avoid another flag fiasco. Blip watched Mike smear grease paint stripes under his rookie’s eyes the frown at her.

“Can you stop being so damn cute for a minute?” He didnt’t say it flirtatiously—it’s a gruff command more than anything else—but Ginny still smiled and he shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”

“I don’t have to be all frowny like you to show people I’m aggressive,” Ginny argued.

“You’re not even remotely agressive.”

“Tell that to the last guy I beaned.”

“That’s not being aggressive. That’s being a ball player,” he replied as he looks her over in her baggy tank top, a T-shirt she’d split down the seams after cutting off the sleeves, and cotton shorts. He shook his head and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You swear you’re so scary.”

“I’m scarier than you.”

Ginny snorted, reached up, and pinched his cheeks. “Sure.”

”You’re such a monster, rookie.” Mike smirked, poked her side, prompting a decidedly adorable giggle. He stuck his index fingers in her dimples. "And look at this face. You're like a corgi."

Ginny smacked his hands away, gave him a frown that only made Mike smile harder. "I hate you."

Mike pulled a face at her. "Oh wow you hurt my feelings.”)

Somehow the corners of his mouth find it possible to drop further when it occurs to him that both their sparse instagram accounts are majority off-guard shots of each other, all with increasingly pretentious quotes. He replaces the pictures, another manifestation of their "If you love me, don't tell me" game, and decides he'll just make his segment about Mike's ratty leather jacket like everyone else.

When Mike returns to his locker after practice, he frowns at the picture being slightly out of its very specific spot, and wonders if he’d accidentally left it partially exposed when he’d looked at it last a few days before (Ginny’s out of town at the national Girl Scouts camp meeting and he’ll never tell anyone—least of all Ginny—that he misses her noisy presence around the house. The entire space for all its smallness feels as vast as his mansion without her shoes beside whatever doorway she chooses to pass through, her water bottles on every surface, and the way she sprawls across the bed, her gangly limbs tangling themselves with his in the night.)

He turns the picture over to read the quote on the back and smiles at it. She’d introduced him to Bukowski (“He’s definitely you in 5 years, or 5 beers. Whichever.”) and though he won’t admit it, he enjoys Bukowski’s writing. She’d introduced him to photography too, a treasured hobby to which no one had been privy before him, and the only reason he has the picture in his hand.

(He isn’t sure what he’d expected to be in the cardboard box she kept in the back of the closet, the only one she didn’t open when they moved in. After he shared his record collection, the two of them spending a sticky Sunday sprawled on the porch and worked through his “everything Ginny should hear before she dies” playlist of vinyls, she dragged the box out and emptied it on their bed for him to see.

Her dad bought her a Polaroid for their first visit to the baseball hall of fame and she became quite the shutterbug. She's got dozens of candids of them doing any little thing: packing up for a weekend fishing trip, barbecuing for Will's birthday, coaxing her mother into dancing in the kitchen. There's a sizable collection of baseball shots: Bill pitching, Bill at bat, Bill showing his gangly daughter how to line up her swing.

And a cherished dozen photos Bill took of her. Mike lingers on these, each featuring a different Ginny: four and standing on her bed, a pillow in her small hands; seven and running through the sprinkles with a popsicle grin; nine with an Easter basket; thirteen with braces, her expression wide-eyed as if he’d called her name then immediately snapped the picture; seventeen in a white dress, a red graduation cap on her head. And one of her slightly older, both their faces smashed together in the frame, wearing red baseball caps with matching team logos. Mike guesses it's the last picture of them judging by the way it's been handled, crumpled completely at least once.

He looks through them silently, aware that Ginny's watching him examine a rarely shown side of herself. Under the pictures is the camera, somehow pristine despite its age. He turns it over in his hands. On the bottom, in his pitcher's loopy, decidedly girlish handwriting, is: Property of Ginny Baker, Future Padre. When he looks at her, she's looked away but seems to snap to attention under his gaze. Mike snaps her picture then, and the camera makes its ancient shuttering sound then spits out the picture of his rookie: eyes wide with surprise, curls doing that springy magic that fascinates him, her lips curled in an almost smile.

He puts it in his nightstand, deliberately not considering the implications of Ginny being in one of the the only two photos he possesses.

Unbeknownst to him, Ginny finds them both when looking for a spare phone charger. The first is of her. The second is of a man she first believes to be Mike, his arm slung over the shoulders of a smiling pregnant woman. She reconsiders when she notes the woman's voluminous 80's hair and the man’s small paunch. Still, there are signs of Mike: the woman's hazel eyes, the man's dark beard drawn across a strong jaw, the wrinkles in his forehead as he frowns at the camera, and the ratty leather jacket on his substantial body. Ginny turns it over, reads the date: June 1979. The resemblances make sense all at once and she runs her thumb over the ancient picture before she replaces it, aware of the significance of Mike's collection, however meager.)

He tucks the pictures away completely, making sure they’re hidden under the pile, then goes home to lie on Ginny’s side of the bed. When he opens the drawer and pulls out the first picture he’d taken of her, he examines it to see if she’s changed. Nothing seems overtly different (she is perhaps tanner from the Arizona sun, and it’s brought a smattering of freckles to the bridge of her nose and apples of her cheeks), but he notices the capture is slightly out of focus despite his closeness to her. It only occurs to him then that his hands had been shaking, that he’d been inexplicably nervous pointing the camera at her as if she were the one staring at him, the one capturing his vulnerability. When he’s looked at it for too long, he takes the first and turns it over, finds a pen in the drawer. He puts the picture on the nightstand, scribbles: “I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.” - C.B.

He’s just put the picture away when his phone begins buzzing. He answers without looking at the screen, knowing exactly who’s calling. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Her laugh is instantaneous. “Shut up and go look at my Instagram. I _so_ got you.”

He puts her on speakerphone, opens instagram. There he is, at the top of his feed, asleep in the hammock, a bottle clutched in his fist. He smirks at the caption: “Who the hell said you no longer had it in you?” - C.B. #hisfifthbeersaidit #offgaurd #yourturnoldman

He snickers, tells her, “I guess I can kiss heaven goodbye cause it’s gotta be a sin to be so good-looking.”

“Ew!” She laughs, so raucous in his ear that he can almost imagine she’s beside him.

“Whatever, rook. When are you coming home? More importantly, did you get any cookies?”

“I have like ten boxes and I’m sick of them. You can have them all.”

“I guess I won’t change the locks then.”

“Change the locks on my house where I was gracious enough to let you freeload? Talk about ingratitude.”

“No talk about the guy who put all your shoes in the closet—they don’t go beside whatever doorway you walk through by the way—and threw away all 8 million of your water bottles.”

“It’s the least you can do,” she replies then says, “I can’t believe these girls are still up. It’s like 9:30.”

He laughs. “I like how you said 9:30 like it’s 4 am.”

“Jesus fuck do you see how you’ve aged me old man?”

“I aged you? I aged the person who bought a case of sleepy time tea to have during their epsom baths?”

“One of these days you’ll learn to mind your business.” She laughs then asks, “What are you doing up anyway?”

“Without you, I don’t have to live like this a rest home.”

“I bet you’re in bed eating dinner.”

He is, but he refuses to let her be right. “You don’t know me.”

Ginny snorts. “Please. It’s Monday night, so you’re having Korean barbecue. And it’s 9:30 so you’re watching Love and Hip Hop. And I’m not there so you’re in your underwear, in my spot, and you’re gonna be asleep by 11.”

“For your information, I’m not watching Love and Hip Hop because we agreed not to watch alone, but I’m glad you think you’re so smart.”

“Oh. Well then you’re watching The Golden Girls.”

“Am not.” The theme song blares obnoxiously loud and he has to take the phone away from his ear due to the sheer volume of her laugh.

“We don’t have tv here. Put me on speaker.”

“Anything to stay on the phone with me, Baker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s literally nothing like a nice comment. It’s better than coffee. Okay, maybe not. But still.


End file.
